Dear To My Heart
by JMBangelgirl
Summary: Sequel to "Walk With You 2" Monique returns, but with a different purpose. **Chap 4-6 added 7-24-03**
1. Prologue, Flashbacks

Title: Dear To My Heart

Author: Justine Benoit

Disclaimer: Monica, Andrew, Gloria, Tess, and Monique belong to Martha Williamson, CBS productions, and Moonwater productions. 

Summary: Monique returns, but this time with a different purpose.

Rating: PG for violence, mild language, and supernatural happenings.

*Prologue: Flashbacks*

It had been a long hard day, and seeing this bus stop in the middle of nowhere made her cry. She was lonely for everyone—Andrew, Tess, and Gloria. They had been apart for so long. Now, she faced a tiny wooden bench, a rattlesnake hissing at her feet. It was just as if she was reliving that day—the day when she left—the day when she had been promoted to supervisor. But maybe her friends had left _her_ instead. It wasn't that she was mad at them, but that she was upset at the previous events and didn't have anyone to blame. She couldn't possibly blame God. Look how far He had brought her—if she was anywhere.

She paced the barren dessert ground, her bare feet crunching down in the hot sand and stiff grass. As the sun set, she wondered how a bus could even come through such an area. Once upon a time she would've loved to walk through the dessert, her faith in God as strong as metal, but now was different. Times had changed since she had become a supervisor; she didn't have all of her friends to back her up—no supervisor to point her in the right direction when she was lost. Instead she was the one pointing someone in the right direction. And if she would admit it to anybody, she didn't like the responsibility.

It had started out three years back, when she had taken her first steps alone. Not that she was really alone, for God was with her every step of the way. He had even comforted her down that long road which seemed to go ever on, the bends getting longer each time, making it seem as if she were going in circles. And, at the time, she had almost wished she were. She had wanted to see Tess' face, feel her embrace once more and tell her friends 'thank you' once more. But it was over. Of course for an angel, there is never a real good bye, but still, seeing them at home was different then working with them everyday on earth.

Every time she thought back to that day that she began her new journey, it became more painful. Memories buried deep in her mind flashed before her. She could picture her friends faces as clear as ever. She could feel the warm embrace that Andrew had given her; locked in his arms, hoping she wouldn't have to leave. She could hear Gloria's sweet voice encouraging her. And Tess' teardrops, flowing down her dark cheeks, were so distinct. But for some reason, she was slowly loosing all of that. As time passed, minutes to months, those sweet memories faded. Her vision became unclear, and her mind dreary. Was it regular for an angel under this much pressure to feel stress and fatigue?

The sun was setting behind the mountains, painting a mixture of warm colors on the horizon and against the gathering clouds. It was indeed getting late, and all she could do was rest her head on the back of the bench and cry. Her body ached and therefor didn't feel like moving. She knew she would have to return sooner or later, but not quite yet. Once the canyon where she almost fell was here spot where she felt the safest, but as time passed, this bus stop replaced it. She hadn't gone to the canyon for two years. Ever since Rose was born, she hadn't felt the urge to. Each time she looked at Rose, she cried out in her mind. Rose reminded her so much of Gloria, and for a while, Monica had wished that she would've become Gloria's supervisor. 

Then memories that she had shared with the youngest angel filled her throbbing head. But they, too, were fading. She could just barely see the cherry blossoms encircling Gloria, along with glorious beams of light from God's love. 

Now Andrew's handsome face appeared in her mind. His emerald green eyes were dazzling with excitement as he attempted to teach her football, bowling, and even how to swim. She thought of the times when they had gone through the toughest assignments. He was usually there because it was someone's time to go home, and she was assisting him.

What made her choke was when she pictured Tess. She loved her so much and had always had such a special connection with her. Of course, they hadn't always been the best of friends. They had gotten off on the wrong foot when first meeting. But there were so many precious times that they shared—all of them. 

She decided, after a few moments of complete silence, to open her brown eyes, which were red from crying. She hadn't wished to open them and see the earth around her, but rather to stay in her own world forever. She was suffering, and was afraid it showed. Actually, she could tell it showed by just the way Rose acted around her. Her charge was always asking what she could do to help or just acting worried.

A frightening rattle and hiss snapped her right out of her thoughts. She looked down at the ground and glared at the rattlesnake. It was right at her feet, in an attacking mode.

"Father, I don't have time for a battle. Shoo!" She exclaimed, motioning her hand in the opposite direction of herself. Without hesitation, the rattlesnake turned around and disappeared into the night-filled barren land. "Father," she prayed in a downhearted Irish lilt. "I need a sign."

Suddenly, out of nowhere, the lights of a bus' headlights flashed in her eyes and she sat up. The coach was rolling down the dirt road at a generous pace. Right away the bus driver caught sight of her and pulled the coach to a halt. 

"Is this the sign, God? You want me to get on the bus once more?"

_Yes, Child, I do. _

She looked up at the night sky and sighed. 

"If it is your will," she sobbed. How she longed not to. There were too many memories from this bus stop—including the bus. She had been traveling in other ways since the events that took place two years ago. But it even hurt to ride Tess' car—her car. "All right," she sighed. 

Carefully, she stepped up the steps of the transport, and looked around inside. It was packed. 

_Well, if this is really what you want me to do, then so be it._


	2. Chap One, Evil's Many Disguises

Disclaimer: Nothing from Touched by an Angel belongs to me. And note that the quotes that I took from "Walk With You, part two" and "Netherlands" aren't exactly how they were originally said. They officially belong to Martha Williamson, CBS productions, and Moonwater productions.

*Chapter One: *

Monica awoke to the sound of the bus rearing, only to find that her head ached more than it had before. Her forehead was ice cold from being rested upon the glass of the window, and her mind was in a daze. For a moment, she didn't feel like opening her eyes for fear she would see too many things that might awaken her thoughts and bring back her memories. It wasn't that she did not want to remember her friend's faces. She just hated the pain that they brought; all she could think about when she saw them was that day—three years ago. 

In the background of her thoughts, she could hear the bus driver's call to load the coach. The bus would be full in due time. 

She turned her head to rest upon the cold window. Her wish was to get farthest away from the world as she could. After all, it seemed to be moving away from her. What was this far feeling that she was experiencing day in, day out? It was as if no one cared about her anymore, but she knew that not true, for her and Rose had a beautiful friendship that was blossoming more each and every day. Perhaps it was just the stress of being a supervisor. 

Then her thoughts drifted back to Tess. How could her old supervisor handled it everyday, and with two charges—her and Andrew. For a moment Monica's mind started to throb just thinking about the matters. One charge was enough for her. And she regretted to think the truth: she wished she wasn't a supervisor and didn't have a charge. 

The angel could feel the seats around her bumping as people filled them. The crown never seemed to end. People kept on flowing through the bus doors. She tried to close her eyes and fall back asleep, but the clamber of bodies moving about held her own body and soul awake.

It was useless, she thought. 

"Last stop, Duluth, Minnesota," a voice blared through the speakers. The Irish angel jumped, quite startled. She looked around, seeing that the bus was halfway full. How could she be sleeping this much? It was very rare for an angel to need sleep.

Willingly, she slowly stood up and stretched. Somehow her feet managed to carry her off of the coach and out into the mid-size town of Duluth. It was a beautiful May day; the cool breeze mixed with mist from the nearby lake felt wonderful upon her skin from just coming from the hot barren dessert. 

Her brown eyes searched for something—at the time she didn't know exactly what, but when she spotted the small café across the street, her instincts took a hold. 

__

Coffee.

The warm liquid felt so relaxing as it ran down her throat. Monica could never go a day without coffee. Perhaps she was addicted. That made her think back to the day when Andrew had tried to convince her that she was. 

__

No! she thought. _I can't be thinking back. _

The Irish angel leaned down and rubbed her head, then cradled it in her arms. Was there some reason why she was remembering everything? Did God want her to see some good out of all this?

__

"Thank you for all that you've done for me. You're going to make a great supervisor."

Gloria's words hung in Monica's mind. She could picture clearly the youngest angel dressed in a red winter coat, slowly disappearing into nowhere—wherever nowhere was at the time.

__

"You will remember all the times that we had together, won't you, Angel Girl?"

"I promise, Andrew. I promise I will."

Was it true? Had she really promised her friend that she would remember everything—every assignment they did together, walking through the valley of death? How could she if it hurt so much?

_"Tess, I never knew—when we first met—that the road ahead of us would be so long. And now, I don't think I can just drive away without you…"_

But she had. She truly had. And no matter how hard she tried to forget that, it kept attacking her mind. Three years ago, this had happened, and she was still struggling to push it away from her daily thoughts.

"Oh, Father," she sobbed. "How could I have?"

"Are you all right, Miss?" a sympathetic voice asked her. Monica lifted her head up and looked straight into worried green eyes. For a moment, she almost wished…she almost thought…

"Yes…not really," she answered shakily. 

"My name is David. Can I help you? Would you like a tissue?" he asked with a comforting tone.

"No thank you," Monica replied with an Irish lilt that sounded dead at heart. 

"Are you sure? You look like you could use one," he pursued. Monica smiled and wiped her eyes.

"I'm that bad, huh?" she asked almost with a giggle. 

"Do you want the truth?" He smiled and handed her a black cloth. 

"Thank you, David," she said after wiping her face. Finally she looked directly into the face of her helper and smiled. "Is that better?" 

"Much," he answered, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Much. Say, let me walk you out of this place. And I tell you what, I'm going to buy you a pastry on our way."

"Oh, I couldn't accept it. I hardly know you," the Irish angel concluded. She struggled to keep the tears from flowing out of her brown eyes.

"No, really, it would be my pleasure," he gestured. Reluctantly she nodded and picked out a pink-covered doughnut from the showcase. 

"Thank you, very much, David," she said, gratitude flowing in her Irish lilt which was suddenly coming back to life.

"You're very welcome…I don't believe I caught your name yet."

"Oh, I'm sorry. My name is Monica," the Irish angel told her new companion.

"Well, then, Monica, would you like a ride?" he asked in a smooth tone.

"Actually, I don't know quite yet where I'm headed," she explained. "I just came here from…well…from a far away place and wasn't even sure if this was where I'm supposed to be."

"Then I suggest I show you around. Hop in." He gestured toward the door of his black Sedan. 

Suddenly, in Monica's mind, images and voices flashed in front of her.

_A black convertible, a dessert, a man dressed in black…_

_"Do you need a ride?"_

"No, thank you."

"Oh, come on, Monica. You know you want to."

"No, I better not. I shouldn't…" her voice trailed off. She was afraid—afraid of something she didn't know. For some reason, her heart was pulling her towards the car, while another part was pulling her away. She didn't know what to do.

"Monica, you know you want to," David's friendly voice insisted.

"I guess…"

"I knew you would. Now come on and I'll show you around. So tell me a little about yourself, Monica. I'm interested."

"Well, there's not much to my story. I guess I just go wherever my job takes me and I help people," Monica explained in an unsure voice. 

"That's almost exactly what I do," David told her with a wink. "Only just the opposite," he whispered under his breath so she couldn't hear him. "Do you have any family nearby?"

"I have family almost everywhere," Monica laughed, for to her ears it sounded quite funny. 

"Same here. If you look over there, you can just see Wisconsin. That's the next state over. See, it's border touches Lake Superior, which, by a matter of fact, is the world's largest fresh water lake."

"Interesting," Monica murmured. She watched the waves splash up and down on the rocky shore. "What's that?" she asked, pointing to a magnificent structure.

"That's the Ariel Bridge. It's one of Duluth's main tourist attractions. And the bride over there is the Bong Bridge," David replied.

Monica nodded and slumped back in the seat. She ran her fingers through her shoulder-length auburn hair and yawned. Her brown eyes scanned the area around her. There were many buildings, though not skyscrapers. The town wasn't too big or populated. A few thousand people lived there. She looked over to her left and saw a hill that separated Duluth from another small town of Proctor. 

"Are you tired?" 

"A wee bit," the Irish angel replied. "I've been sleeping almost all day."

"Just rest. I'm taking you to a lovely spot where I visit often," David explained. "I like to call it my own special place for I went through a magnificent change there."

"I have a spot like that," Monica told her companion. 

"I think we all do, Monica. Though some do refuse to have one, for fear that that spot might bring back aching memories."

Monica felt like sliding down in her seat and disappearing. It was almost as if David had read her mind. She felt so uncomfortable for some odd reason. There was an uncanny feeling growing in her, and she was almost afraid to find out what that feeling was. 

"I think I know what you're talking about," she said in almost a whisper. 

"Now, Monique…I mean Monica…" David's words trailed off when he saw the gasping look on Monica's face. "What?" he asked too innocently. 

"You called me…Monique," Monica gulped. Suddenly David's friendly look became more of a dark expression, and his gray pant suit that he had been wearing turned pitch black. Her mind trembled in confusion and anger all at the same time. How could this be happening? Was her faith being shaken again?


	3. Chap Two, Walking Away

*Chapter two: Walking Away*

Monica promised her self she wouldn't look back as she walked away. It wouldn't be long before she would be in town, and then she would be safe, away from harm—at least she hoped so. So many times she had come face to face with evil, not expecting its next move, and many times she had walked away from it, easy, nothing said. So why was it so hard to do this time? What was it about the disguised devil that attracted her this time? 

She absentmindedly concentrated on her feet as she paced the ground, not even realizing that she had entered the small town of Duluth once more. The Ariel Lift Bridge once again came into view. It seemed to be welcoming her, and the sight of an immense cargo ship passing under it caught her interest.

Her mind was wondering away from her again, her thoughts drifting into another world. That had been happening so much lately. She looked up to find herself at the bus stop. Perhaps Duluth wasn't where the Father wanted her to be. She would have to go farther—if there was a farther. 

The Irish angel reached into her pocket and pulled out a ticket just in time to give it to the bus driver. It was the same man that had driven the bus on the way.

After all of the passengers were boarded, Monica shut her eyes, deciding to open them when the bus driver called the last stop. When she did open her eyes, it was because of some commotion towards the front of the bus. Her brown eyes scanned a young man arguing with the driver because he did not have a ticket.

She couldn't stand being cooped up any longer and picked her self up and slowly stepped out of the bus, not even paying attention to the "good bye" the driver gave her. She wasn't paying attention to the real world that existed around her but rather the one of fantasy that she had made up in her mind—where all her dreams and thoughts were stored, far away from everything else.

The Irish angel managed to read a sign along the side of the road. 

_Welcome to Cloquet, _she read to herself. 

It was a small and quaint town that made Duluth look like a metropolis. The stores were old fashioned and there were quite a few churches along the side of the roads. There were many fast food restaurants and a few formal ones. She noticed a small bowling alley and gas station as she walked further on. Her feet were carrying her across a bridge, below rushing water hurled.

"Oh, Father," she whispered. "What do you want me to do? Huh? I'm of no use in this condition. I wish you would help me. Evil seems to be trapping me in every way." She looked down and started to cry. Tears slowly rolled down her flushed cheeks. She sniffed and wiped her cheek.

Finding a small field nearby, she sat down amidst the wildflowers and tall grass. 

_I will help you, Child. I will if you'll only let Me._

Monica smiled as she picked up a lavender flower and inhaled its aroma. It seemed to relax her, bring her peace. Nothing had been doing that—not even coffee, and that was scary. Actually, she had almost lost her taste for coffee. She had lost her interest in everything that had once pleased her—even God. She was drifting away from Him more and more as the days passed. She was drifting away from her existence as an angel.

"Monica?" a deep voice called. The Irish angel whipped her head around and tried to smile at the sight of Sam's broad figure but failed.

"Sam," she said, trying to sound the least bit cheerful but again failed. "Long time no see." Sam let out a chuckle.

"It has been a long time, hasn't it Monica?" The young angel nodded, her auburn, shoulder-length hair blowing in her face. "The Father has told me to deliver you a message. You know, the last time I did that was a very long time ago when I was in annunciation," Sam said with a laugh. Monica still didn't show any evidence of a smile. "Well, He told me to tell you that He's sending an old friend to help you."

At those words, Monica's spirit seemed to brighten. She perked up her ears, ready for Sam to tell her more. 

"An old friend?" she said nervously. 

"Yep. You two will spend some quality time together. But, Monica, honey, you have to understand something." Sam paused, making sure that he had her full attention. "This next week is a time for you to relax and forget all of your worries. Don't let…"

"Who is it, Sam?" Monica interrupted, eagerness filling her lilt. 

"Andrew. Andrew is going to be arriving in just a few minutes, and please be ready." Monica nodded, finally smiling, though the smile was something she was forcing from deep within her. All she wanted to do was let Sam know that she was all right. "Good. Then that's settled. Now just wait patiently, and Andrew will instruct you from there." Sam took one last look at her and laid an arm on her shoulder. "Keep trusting in God, Monica," he said, worry in his tone. Then he disappeared.

Monica took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. How would she react to seeing Andrew after three years in the condition that she was in? Perhaps Sam was right. Maybe it was time to walk away from her troubles and leave them behind her. 


	4. Chap Three, Leaving My Worries Behind

*Chapter Three: The Deceiver*

"Monica?" a nervous voice called out. The Irish angel didn't respond. Andrew could tell how lost she was at the moment, in her own world, thoughts overcoming her. "Um…Monica?" he tried again. Slowly, he sat down next to her in the grassy field. 

The wind was lightly blowing her auburn hair, tossing it in front of her despondent brown eyes. For a moment, the angel of death didn't know whether to wait until she noticed him there or try once again to awaken her from her day dreaming. 

"Monica, honey?" he called, this time touching her arm as he did. The Irish angel slowly turned her head to face him and managed a half-hearted smile that left him feeling as downcast as she was. 

"Hi, Andrew," she murmured, immediately turning her head back to the distance where she had been studying before. He narrowed his eyebrows and cast her a perplexed look with his green eyes. He listened, as if waiting for something.

"That's it? No 'Andrew, I missed you'? No hug?" he asked her. The angel of death slowly put a strong hand on her arm and soothed it. It was then that she snapped out of her fantasy world. 

"Oh, Andrew," she said with a sigh. "I'm sorry." The auburn waited for his trustful gaze until she fell into his warm embrace. "I'm just kind of tired," she mumbled, hoping he'd take it.

"Monica," he whispered, his breath hot against her ear. "I've missed you so much. I can't believe you're actually…here," Andrew told her sincerely. Suddenly he tensed and drew back, looking her straight in the eye. She almost turned her gaze, for fear he would see right through her—whatever was in her. "You do know why I'm here, right?" She managed a nod and smiled. 

"Of course."

"This is not like a big vacation, honey. This is a regular assignment that I'm going to help you with. Actually, I'm here to help you with your…" his words trailed off. "You know that the Father and everyone else is worried about you. You're drifting away—more and more as the days go by."

"I've just been experiencing some stress from all these assignments, and then training Rose. She's my charge," Monica told her friend in her sweet Irish lilt. 

"Monica, the Father is giving you and me a day just for relaxation." A smile spread across his face. "And I picked out a spot that I know you would definitely enjoy," he continued. Monica didn't seem to brighten at all. When Sam had first told her that Andrew was coming, she had thought the two of them would have the best time ever—that she would enjoy his company. But now that she was here, she realized that she didn't want to interact with anybody—including her best friend.

*******

The middle-aged looking woman slid her back down against the brick wall and crossed her arms. This assignment wasn't going how she had planned it to go—especially since this was her first assignment without her supervisor there to guide her. 

The clouds covered the warm sun, preventing the light to wash out the darkness with happiness. But as she sat on the damp ground, she wondered how there could be happiness in such a town. 

The small town had it's churches, believers, and Christian symbols, but there was only one problem: the church's walls were knocked in and the doors barred, the believers had either died from age or had been killed, and the Christian symbols were chain crosses found around teenager's necks. 

"Rose," a familiar Irish lilt summoned. The middle-aged woman looked up through her glass-covered blue eyes and tried to smile at the sight of her supervisor. 

"I thought you said that you couldn't approach or help me in any way on this assignment," Rose said in her sweet tone that had turned gloomy. 

"I did say that, but I thought you might need to know something," the auburn said, walking closer to her charge. 

"And what would that be?" Rose asked, adjusting her glasses so she could see straight. 

"There's been a change of plans," the Irish supervisor continued. "You're supposed to go to the club down the road in five minutes and take part in the activity that the townspeople are going to start."

"Activity?" Rose asked, startled. "What kind of activity?" she asked, taking out a pad of paper, ready to write anything else her supervisor said. 

"You'll see. I'll stop by later to check on you, Rose," the auburn said with her Irish lilt. "Then I'll give you further instructions." 

Rose nodded and stood up. The Irish supervisor watched until the small figure disappeared around the corner. The nearly newborn angel was definitely heading to the nightclub. 

Just then, a dark figure appeared in the shadows. His black outline was only visible to the auburn. She didn't turn around to look at him.

"Good," the dark figure snickered. "Now get ready for your next assignment, Monique," he said in a haunting voice. The so-called-Monica let out a laugh and suddenly her brown eyes flashed an evil red.

"I'll be glad to," she hummed. 

*******

"We're here," Andrew whispered, lowering his blond head so he was equal level with the Irish angel. Monica fluttered her brown eyes open, sitting up abruptly, almost causing Andrew to jump. "You're okay," he said softly, soothing her auburn locks.

"Oh, Andrew!" she exclaimed. "I just had the worst nightmare." Her eyes were filled with tears.

"It was just a dream, Monica. It's not real," Andrew comforted, pulling the keys out of the ignition. 

"But I dreamt about Monique…about Rose…about…oh, I can't bear to talk about it!" she said frantically. Her face was sweaty and her hair was sticking to her forehead. 

"Well, I want you to forget about your dreams now and just focus on the beauty…" his words trailed off when he saw the awe-filled expression overcome the Irish angel's trembling face. 

"Andy?" she asked. "Where are we?"

"A little "getaway"," he joked with a laugh. "To tell you the truth, I'm not quite sure. It's just a spot that I thought looked peaceful. 

For a long moment, the two observed the tranquil forest. There were natural springs running down rock formations, birds singing their afternoon songs, trees covering the green landscape, fields of wildflowers that filled the air with lustrous fragrance, and in the middle of it all, a mid-sized, pitched tent. It seemed as if it belonged there—deep in the forest green, oblivious to any of the world. 

"Andrew," Monica said solemnly, turning to face him. "I think I'm going to enjoy this. I really do."

"Good," he said, transferring his gaze back to the falls ahead of them. "That's all I want. Just take this day to relax. You really need to, Monica." The Irish angel nodded in agreement.

"Maybe I do," she concluded. For once, it actually sounded as if she meant it—putting aside all of her worries and such, whatever they were. 

"I call dibs on the tent! You get to sleep outside," Andrew joked, as soon as they were lugging there "heaven-sent" bags down the small trail. 

"Oh, no you don't!" Monica called after him. Andrew started darting through the woods, running at a pace that his best friend surely could not match.

"Well, then," he continued. "Whoever gets there first…" his words trailed off as he stopped short. 

"What is it, Andy?" she asked suddenly, realizing the awe-stricken look upon his handsome face. She tried to follow her gaze to where he was looking, but couldn't quite figure out what he was so intrigued by. 

"Monica, I just realized something," he said, trying to keep his voice as serious as possible. But as much as he tried, his solemn look formed into a held back grin. 

"Andrew?" she asked again.

"We don't have marshmallows," he said with a laugh, knowing that he had her worried. She reached over and playfully hit him on the arm, causing him to wince.

"Ow!" he exclaimed, dropping his bag and rubbing his arm. "Have you been doing some search and rescue while we've been apart?" Monica held a mischievous grin and brushed her hands together.

"No," she replied. "I'm a woman, what do you expect?" She was beaming from ear to ear.

"Nothing that hard," he answered, shaking his head. "Seriously, Mon, you really need to hold back on poor Andrew." She giggled. He stopped and picked up his bag.

"Oh, by the way, Andy," she said with a laugh. "I won the tent." Andrew looked up to see her just reach the small tent before he could even open his mouth. For a second, he just stood there awestricken, trying to think up something to say.

"Um…Monica? Maybe we can work something out?" he asked, putting an arm around her shoulder. Monica shook her head. "A mocha latte?" He gulped. That made her ears perk up.

"Well, under one condition," she preceded. 

"And what would that be, Angel Girl?" he asked sarcastically. 

"You don't snore." Both let out in a tremendous laughter.

_Maybe, _Monica thought. _This vacation will take my troubles away._


	5. Chap Four, Evil's Ways

*Chapter Four: Evil's Way*

Andrew sat on the grassy hill and overlooked the tranquil area intently with his emerald green eyes. He was looking for some kind of answer to his silent thoughts, but his mind started to drift away with the beauty of the lake. It's waters lapped gently upon the rocky shore, creating music to his ears. 

"Father, thank you for this day—this day that I can spend with my friend. Thank you," he whispered, his voice blending with the wind's low whistles. 

Then his thoughts traveled back to that morning. Why hadn't Monica been as excited to see him as he was? She had hardly seemed to notice him. Maybe the Father was right—Monica did need all the help she could get. 

But why?

What was wrong with her?

His body tensed when he heard the grass crunch behind him. Slowly, the angel of death turned his blond head to see the beautiful appearance of the Irish angel come forth. But her once cheery expression had faded with the morning. Now, her rosy face held a gloomy tone that clashed with her brown eyes.

There was a long moment of silence between the chirping of the bird's rain songs and the splashing of the water against the rocks. Andrew tried to lock eyes with her but for some reason didn't dare. There was something keeping them away from each other's inner feelings—some evil that did not want to be awakened. Finally, he got the courage and managed to speak.

"Monica?" he began. His voice trembled for a reason that he was not aware of. "Can I talk to you?" Monica straightened her posture and smiled. For the first time in that instant, their eyes locked. For a moment, the two angels just stared at each other, as if searching for something unknown. But then, Monica turned away.

"Of course," her lilt almost whispered. 

"Well, I…I…just wanted to know…" He realized his approach seemed awkward and paused to think of the right word usage. "You see this morning—when I first came—you, well…you didn't seem that pleased to see me. Sam told me that I was going to be sent to help you. But for what reason, I cannot tell—unless you…" He stopped and shook his head. "Never mind."

"Andrew," the Irish angel said. "What exactly are you trying to say?" Her brown eyes sparkled with curiosity. He hesitated, pondering her question in his mind.

"I'm trying to tell you that…you're not the same. I mean, you don't seem happy any more…"

"I know," she managed. "Ever since that day…" Then she realized that she had almost shared her feelings. She just couldn't do it. There was too much hurt involved. But Andrew was here now. Maybe it was time to spill out all her troubles. But what if he didn't care? He had cared in the past, though.

"What day, Monica? Do you mean…" he was cut off by her piercing Irish lilt.

"No, Andrew! Please don't," she cried, tears weighing her eyes down. "Please don't," she repeated. Her rosy cheeks were suddenly filled with sobs, and she threw her head in her hands. He hesitantly reached down and touched her back. 

_Perhaps this is the healing that needs to take place,_ he thought. _Perhaps she needs to get out her emotions and feelings. _

"Monica," he whispered. "I'm here, honey, I'm here." She slowly raised her head, revealing her tear-streaked face. The ends of her shoulder-length auburn hair were soaked. "Please tell me what's wrong. Please," he pleaded. "I'm here to help."

"Oh, Andrew," Monica sobbed and cried into his shoulder. He soothed her hair and rested his chin on her head. "I'm so lonely." At the sound of those words, his heart almost broke. 

Lonely? Was she really lonely?

"But you have me here, and if not, there's your charge and God is always with you too, Angel Girl," he comforted. He tried his hardest not to let a tear fall from his emerald green eyes. He had to be brave for her.

"Angel Girl?" she asked in surprise, raising her head from his shoulder. "No one has called me that in years," she mused. Andrew could see more tears form in her eyes. "The more I think about that, the more Tess flows into my mind. Oh, Andrew," she cried. 

"Why don't we go back to the tent, Monica. I think you need some rest," the angel of death suggested. "And maybe after you've taken a nap, you can tell me all that's been happening lately. I'm interested to hear about your charge—Rose is it?"

"Yes," Monica sighed. "She's all alone now. This will be the first time she's done an assignment without me. I hope she does okay." The Irish angel sniffed and wiped her nose. 

"I'm sure she will, honey. She'll be just fine," the blond angel encouraged. "The Father will take care of her."

******

Monica could vaguely remember being carried into the tent. Now, as she struggled to see, her eyes hardly made out Andrew's handsome figure. 

"Hey, Angel Girl. Good morning," Andrew's kind voice joked. She felt him reach down and touch her cheek. "You okay? It's already three and you've been sleeping for two hours!"

"Sorry," she mumbled. "You know that you could've woke me up," her lilt croaked. 

"Nah," he stated. "You need your sleep. Let's say we go into town for a while. I've been interested in checking out some shops there. And I hear that they serve great coffee."

"Sure. But I don't need any coffee," Monica said in between a yawn and a stretch. For a second, Andrew's mouth literally dropped open. 

"No coffee," he mimicked. "Wow! Now if that ain't a first, I don't know what is. Monica without coffee…" He shook his head and smiled. "Now I never thought I'd hear that!"

"Oh, Andrew," Monica sighed. She sat up and rubbed her eyes. "But how are we going to get there. It's a pretty long way into town," she reminded him. 

"What about Tess'…I mean your car," Andrew asked, biting his lip and gritting his teeth. He wanted to scold himself. Would Monica be upset?

"Rose has it," Monica said slowly, pondering Andrew's mistake in her head. 

"You trust her with it, Angel Girl?" the angel of death asked his friend, a grin playing his face. "Tess sure got nervous," he said purposely, emphasizing their old supervisor's name. Andrew wanted the Irish angel to talk about what was on her mind. He had a hint that it had to do with Tess and the day three years ago.

Monica stood up and zipped up her sleeping bag, ignoring Andrew's comment. She opened the door and stepped into the warm afternoon. Her brown eyes searched the woods apprehensively. 

"Monica," Andrew whispered, following her out of the tent. He stopped right at her heels and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Maybe it's time to talk." 

Those were the words she least wanted to hear. She couldn't bear to talk. Any mention of a name or place or even that day brought pain to her heavy heart. And as the seconds ticked by, her heart's burden grew heavier yet. How much more could she possibly take?

"All right," her Irish lilt managed. "What do you want to talk about?" 

"What's on your mind—what's been bugging you." The angel of death bit his lip and wondered if she would run off or lock eyes with him and spill out everything.

"Well, I can tell you what's bugging me right now," she began with an upset lilt. "The fact that every time I have a sad expression, my head hangs down, every time my eyes wander, someone asks me constantly 'what's wrong'. Constantly, Andrew," Monica said, sincerity ringing in her tone. "Each time the Father sees my heart is troubled, he has to send someone. First Rose tried to cheer me up, then Sam came, and now you. I thought you would be a little more understanding and give me my space, but you turned out to be just like the rest. And I'm sorry to say this Andrew, but I don't like you hanging on my every move. If I wanted to talk, I would and you wouldn't have to ask me!" 

With that, Monica started walking down the trail that led to town. Her pace quickened when she realized that Andrew was running after her. She kept her arms crossed the whole way, not even attempting to look back. She let out a small squeal when something moved by her feet and looked down. A rattlesnake slithered around her, encircling her every move. 

She started to run.

Then suddenly, out of nowhere, a dark object stood up out of the ground and interfered with her haste. She fell to the ground and let the force of the fall plant her cheek into the damp dirt. As fast as she dared, she turned her head back and saw the root sticking up, the rattlesnake slithering right by it. That fall had been no accident. 

"Monica, Monica," a shady voice laughed. "What a pleasure surprise." There, in front of her, stood a dark figure that emerged from the shadow of a pine tree. Her appearance matched that of Monica's, but a dark light laminated her thin figure. 

"I'm so sure," the Irish angel scoffed. "It's never a pleasure, Monique."

"But this time it is, honey. Believe me," Monique said with a hair-raising laugh.

"Why do you say that?" Monica asked, pushing herself up and rubbing her head. Her auburn hair was coated with mud and entangled with twigs and leaves.

"You want to stop the pain?" Monique snickered. "Well, honey, I've got a great way to."


	6. Chap Five, A Deal With the Devil

*Chapter Five: A Deal With the Devil*

Andrew peered ahead of him with his emerald green eyes. There was no sign of Monica at all. He stopped at sight of a rattlesnake encircling his feet. The angel of death put his hands on his knees and took heavy breaths. Where had Monica gone? There were no other paths leading further into the woods for a while, and the Irish angel hadn't gotten that much of a lead on him. She couldn't just disappear.

Then his eyes gazed upon a tree root jutting out of the ground about five feet away. There were impression marks upon the ground. He could just barely make out her hand and footprints. She had fallen. Was his friend okay? 

What had happened a few minutes ago was surprising for him. Sam _was_ right. Monica did need healing and someone to help her get it. That person was he. But he scolded himself for pestering her. It was the wrong thing to do. If only he could've realized that at the moment. 

At the sound of a hiss below him, Andrew's thoughts went back to the rattlesnake.

"Get!" he ordered in a commanding voice that echoed through the forest. The rattlesnake quickly slithered away but stopped to hiss and shake it's rattle one more time as of a threat. Andrew glared at it and, finally, the snake fled into the brush. 

Once again, the angel of death peered up the trail that led into town and wondered where his friend had gone. Oh how he wished he hadn't upset her like that. But usually, like in the past, she hadn't been disturbed so easily. He had always thought of her as an easygoing person—one who was slow to anger. 

Then it hit him: the rattlesnake.

Was it just he, or was the snake's appearance there more than pure coincidental. Of course, he didn't exactly believe in coincidence. But still, hadn't that sign of Satan appeared more than once in past assignments, representing evil, striking and getting in the way of whatever good was supposed to take place? That made Andrew even more worried about his friend. 

******

Before Monica could object, the sly figure of Monique snapped her fingers and everything became dark, the world became oblivious, and God was nowhere in presence.

"I've got a lot to do so if you'll cooperate right away, this may go quicker than usual," the demon's voice rang. "But of course, there's always a chance that you won't cooperate just like your stubborn little angelic self. And if you don't want to experience, see, or hear pain, don't make me loose my temper. Thank you."

"I didn't say I wanted to accept your offer, Monique," the angel snapped, looking directly into her opponent's red eyes. 

"Didn't I tell you about your stubbornness. Now, honey, don't get me wrong, but you've been wanting the pain to stop for many days, weeks, months…" Monique's voice trailed off. "Right?" she hissed.

"Yes," the Irish angel quivered. She hung her head, embarrassed to give in to the devil's questions. "So?" she pressed.

"So have I got a deal for you, Monica," she laughed, holding up a hand. "Just take my hand and I'll lead you to the person who's going to make it all happen."

"But I don't understand what it is…" Monica started.

"You don't have to, honey, 'cause, boy, oh, boy, are you going to find out. I can guarantee you that you won't regret this. You won't regret this at all," she laughed hysterically. 

Monica's brown eyes focussed on Monique's outstretched hand. The neatly manicured fingernails were painted venom red, playing the angel's mind. Slowly, she lifted her own hand and reached for her opponents but failed to touch Monique's fingertips. The demon still held her hand out still, tempting the angel with all the power that was in her. 

If I hold her hand, all the pain will be gone, Monica thought. But is this the right way to get rid of it? Oh Father, what do I do now?  
"Don't think that I can't hear your silent prayers," Monique whispered into the angel's ear. "Just take my hand, Monica, and the pain will soon be gone. You won't feel anything," she tempted.

"But I'm an angel and would like to remain one," Monica said quickly in an upset lilt.

"And that you will." The demon flashed Monica a red glare, a sly grin playing her lush ruby lips. She lifted her hand up into the air right in front of the angel's face. Finally, Monica met fingers with her opponent, and Monique grasped her hand tightly. "Until you wish that you weren't," the demon mumbled under her breath so that Monica couldn't hear her.

******

Rose walked into a small bar a few blocks from where she had last seen her supervisor. Why had she told her to come in this shabby place? What was an angel's job in a bar? There were so many questions that she had no answers to. After all, this was her first assignment without Monica. How was she supposed to get along?

Putting her glasses on to get a better view of the building, Rose met eyes with a heavyset man who was seated at the counter.

"Now tell me, good-looking, what's a nice girl like you doing here in a filthy place like this?" he asked in a gruff but friendly voice. The angel could tell that he wasn't such a clean man himself by the way he dressed in a plain gray T-shirt. Bristly whiskers covered his lower face, and his brown eyes lighted up, waiting for an answer.

"Well," Rose began, smiling as politely as possible. "I have some business here tonight," she managed.

"Business? Oh, lady, you're not with that group that's coming in her tonight. Not a young girl like you?" the man asked.

"Well, I'm not quite sure. You see, I was told to go here and…" her young voice trailed off. 

"Honey, you just might be in the wrong place. This is not a place for pretty women like you. Say, I didn't catch your name. You can call me Jeff." The man stood up and crossed his arms. "I'm the owner of this place."

"Well, Jeff, my name is…a…Rose," the angel said with a gulp. "I'm an ang…new to this business," she said quickly. So many times she had come too close to announcing her true identity. Suddenly a middle-aged man walked through the back door.

"Hey, Joe, this girl part of your party?" Jeff asked the newcomer. Joe shrugged.

"That all depends. We ordered a few newbies. She may be one of them. You'll have to take it up with the boss," Joe said, studying Rose carefully. He finally turned away and found a seat at the counter. "The rest of the boys should be here any minute, Jeff. Could you ready a few drinks?"

"Sure. Why don't you talk to this lady a little bit." Jeff grinned and motioned to Rose. Rose looked around quickly and blushed.

"So what's your name, honey?" Joe asked the angel curiously. He led her over to a small table in the corner. Rose could see his many tattoos that lined his arms and covered his bald head. He wore a leather vest and rugged jeans.

"Well, my name is Rose," she answered meekly.

"Tell me, honey, you doing business with me tonight? If so, I like your attire. Sure is a good disguise." Joe eyed her formal denim skirt and white blouse. 

"I'm not quite sure," the angel mumbled quietly. 

"Oh, it's okay, Rose. Jeff always knows about this stuff. There's no need to keep it a secret from him. Actually, to tell you the truth, he's my big bro." Joe gave a quick glance at Jeff. 

"I would have never guessed," Rose said in a surprised tone. "There's no real resemblance."

"I know. Say, you don't really seem the type. You sure you've got the right place? There's many bars around here. You might have gotten them confused." 

"No, my supervisor…I mean…well she told me that I'd find my party here." Rose shrugged. "She has had a lot of experience and knows what she's talking about."

"Your supervisor?" Joe asked curiously. "Who's the lady you happen to be doing business with?"

Unsure of whether or not she should give out any names Rose replied: "She has a beautiful Irish accent and a wonderful smile. She's small and has auburn hair." Rose decided not to give out any more information. 

"Ah, you mean Monica? That woman is one of a kind. Sort of a split personality if you know what I mean." Joe stopped and looked at Rose. "That is who you're talking about, ain't it? She's the only one in town with an Irish accent."

"Yes, Monica," Rose answered.

"How long have you known her?" Joe asked curiously. "She's been in our business for quite a while."

"For about three years," the young angel replied. 

"Been working with that woman for that long? Wow. You sure are in to this stuff. I guess I judged you by your personality and looks. But that's good to be the way you are. No one would ever suspect anything," Joe said. He still studied Rose with his dark eyes. 

_No one would ever suspect anything? _Rose pondered Joe's words in her mind. What kind of business exactly was she getting herself into?

"Yeah," Rose said uneasily. "I guess not."

"Look, here come some more of the boys now, along with the two other newbies," Joe spoke. "Yo, Jesse, Matt, over here!" he yelled with a smile sleeking over his face. "Here's your other newbie." Joe pointed to Rose.

"Is this the one that Monica lady sent?" Jesse asked, slumping down into a chair next to Joe. His spiked brown hair was set straight on top of his head with gel. Like the other guys in this unusual party, Jesse also had tattoos covering his skin.

"Yep. Rose here says that she's been working for three years with Monica. And she doesn't even look the type, does she?" Joe asked his partners.

"Not at all," Jesse said, casting playful glances at Rose. "But sure is good looking." He and the other men let out laughs.

The men couldn't possibly mean the angel business, could they? They sure didn't act or look like angels. 

"Well, let's get a move on this," Matt called, pointing at the clock that hung on the peeling wallpaper. "It's time!" The group of men and few women chorused in whistles of agreement. 

"What do you want me to do?" Rose asked nervously.

"Now, sweet heart, just do what you always do; what your heart is longing for you to commit," laughed Joe. "You said you've been doing this for three years. Show us!" 

Rose slowly followed the crowd of gang members out the door but first stop to face Jeff.

"Now, Rose, honey, you don't seem the right kind of person to do this sort of stuff. Are you sure you want to pull this off?" the owner asked solemnly. "You don't have to listen to my bro and his gang. They're just a bunch of madmen looking for their prey."

"This is what Monica wants me to do, Jeff. I have to listen to her," the angel replied quietly. "I'm not even quite sure what's in store for me out there tonight," she mumbled under her breath.

"Monica? Did you say Monica? You have to be mistaken. Monica is a sweet little girl. She'd never tell you to do something like this!" Jeff exclaimed in surprise. Rose shrugged.

"I've been listening to her for quite a while now. I don't think I can just back out on this—whatever this is."

"Just remember, Rose, God is watching you, and God knows your every thought. Be careful, good-looking, and please, if those guys don't convince you to do this, that there's always a warm place here for you." The owner looked at her solemnly and sighed. "Well, I have to get back to my dishwashing. There's a lot of work to do here." Rose nodded.

"Thank you, Jeff. I'll remember what you said."

The angel followed the men out into the small town, not knowing exactly what was in store for her.

"Oh, Father," Jeff prayed back in the bar. "There's definitely something familiar about that young lady. Please don't let anything happen to her. And Monica? I don't understand. Monica wouldn't do anything like this."


	7. Chap Six, The Rescue

*Chapter Six: The Rescue*

Gloria struggled to keep her brown eyes open any longer. She knew that if she closed them, she might loose consciousness. Angels couldn't die, but at the moment, she realized that she had never experienced this much pain before in her lifetime. 

As time slowly passed, it became harder to breathe. Every time she heaved her chest, a surge of pain overcame her body and soul. But she just had to hold on a little longer—long enough.

The night seemed to get darker as the hour drew late. Circles of clouds were rolling into the night sky, gradually making the dazzling midnight stars oblivious. Perhaps no one would find her there in the middle of a dark alley. She couldn't give up hope. There had to be some reason that God had all this happen. It was all up to Rose now, whether the young angel wanted to accept it or not. Gloria knew perfectly well that Rose had no idea what was happening—or that the 21rst-century angel was an angel. But she would soon find out.

Suddenly, as if on cue to Gloria's pain, a dim light pierced the dark blanket, lightening her spirits. As it came closer, she realized that it took the shape of a man—but not just any man. Gloria could recognize that glorious light from anywhere. The man was an angel. 

She wanted to call out to him, but each time she opened her mouth, only a silenced crackle escaped her dry lips. Finally, she realized that it was no use. Perhaps he would see her. 

For a moment, he bent down to touch Joe's chest, as if feeling for a heart beat. When feeling no movement, he slowly stood up. But the sound of the gravel beside him crunching made him turn his tall figure towards Gloria. At the moment he saw her, he immediately rushed to her side and kneeled down next to her, the glorious light now faded. In the darkness, neither of them could make out each other's features, but Gloria felt safe, knowing that another angel was with her. 

"Are you alright?" he whispered softly, squinting at her in the pitch black. Pain and adrenaline rushed through her body as she wished she could answer him. The only way she found possible was by giving his hand a gentle squeeze—as hard as she dared. He seemed to relax. His eyes shone like emeralds in the darkness. "I'll get you to the nearest hospital as soon as possible. I'm going to help you."

Gloria tensed at the tone of his voice. It was so comforting, so sincere—so familiar. And his green eyes triggered something in her mind, causing her to wonder about this angel even more. He was either in Search and Rescue or an Angel of Death. And that made her think more. 

_Father, _she thought. _I really need the strength to speak. Please grant it to me. _Her silent prayer seemed to be answered immediately.

"You're…you're an a-angel," she stuttered breathlessly. She could barely make out his grin in the darkness.

"How can you tell?" he asked as he pressured her wound with a piece of cloth.

"Because…" her weak words trailed off. "I-I'm one…t-too," she scarcely managed. His emerald eyes widened and he peered at her more closely. Still unable to catch her features in the darkness, his mouth formed a stiff line.

"You shouldn't talk, angel," he said in a cheerful voice. She had to smile at his words. 

Slowly, he took the pressure off of her wound and lifted her into his arms. Gloria tried to see him clearly, but without her glasses combined with the pitch black, she decided it impossible.

His arms had a loving grip around her, showing her that he cared very much. As he walked down the alley with her in his tight grasp, he knew his assignment would have to wait.

A few minutes later, a siren was blazing in his ears as he set down his cell phone. 

"Angel," he whispered into her ear, darkness still surrounding them. "Hold on, the ambulance is coming. I have to go, but you'll be safe." Gloria didn't respond, but let her soul whisper an 'okay' back to him. As she lay on the bench, a coat rapped around her tightly, her eyes followed the mysterious angel into the pitch black. And just then, the lights of the arriving ambulance shone on his back profile. She gasped and wanted to call out to him. 

It was Andrew.

As the lights of the blaring ambulance flashed in her face, she lay still in the fast moving automobile. Even hooked up to oxygen, it was hard to breathe. And her mind kept thinking of Andrew. If only there had been one street light, she would have gotten to thank her friend. It had been nearly three years since she had seen any of her friends.

"We've arrived in the parking lot," the driver yelled into his speaker. "Get ready. Over."

"Readying the cart. Over and Out," a woman's voice yelled back in crackles.

Gloria tensed as she felt the roaring transport come to a halting stop and two men lift up the bed she was on. Even though she kept her eyes closed, she knew that they were carrying her into the hospital. And soon she could tell that she was being transferred to a rolling cart that was pushed by a few of the staff members.

It seemed to be hours before a doctor entered her room. She glanced at the clock. To her dismay, it was eleven o' clock in the morning, and she had never felt this drowsy in her life.

"Hello, miss," the doctor greeted her in a soothing voice. He sat down in a chair next to her bed, a clipboard and pen in his hands. "I'm Doctor Matthews and I'll be helping you recover."

"What happened…I don't understand!" Gloria stammered in a weak and hoarse voice. She tried to sit up, but her stomach churned and she felt like she was about to throw up.

"Now, now, young lady," he said gently. "Just lay back. Last night, a kind gentleman called an ambulance. You were shot in the chest—a few inches away from your heart…"

"I'm aware of those matters," the angel said with a furrowed brow. "I mean to say that I don't commemorate anything after I was carried into the hospital…" She paused. "The last thing I can recall is being lifted onto a rolling cart."

"Miss, we had to bring you into immediate surgery to remove the bullet from your chest. You fell into unconsciousness, and for a while, we guessed you would go into a coma." Doctor Matthews smiled. "But you were strong and you held on. Now, we couldn't identify you. You weren't carrying any ID on you. What is your name, miss?"

"Gloria," she replied meekly. 

"Last name?" he asked, jotting down notes on his clipboard.

"I'm not equipped with one," the angel said with a grin, almost laughing out loud. It did sound quite funny every time she admitted that. "It's a long story," she continued after seeing the puzzled look on his face.

"Not equipped with one?" the doctor repeated curiously. "What are you? Some kind of 21rst-century Einstein?" he asked with a laugh.

"Something like that," Gloria joked. Then nausea hit her like a bullet. She hung her head down, her cheeks turning pale.

"You're feeling nauseous, right?" Matthews asked her, laying a hand on her shoulder. He handed her a plastic dish. "I'm not guaranteeing that there will be vomiting, but considering the surgery last night, you've had a rough time. And you may also be experiencing pain in you upper left shoulder by your chest. That is anything but unusual. That bullet was really dug into you. You're a lucky one, Gloria," Matthews told her, a grin playing his face. She nodded, wondering when she'd be cured of this mess.

"Thank you, Doctor," she whispered. 

"I'll send some of my nurses in to tend to you in a few minutes. In the mean time, I'll let you rest. Here's the TV controller if you feel up to watching something." He set down the remote next to her. She nodded and rested her head gently on her pillow. Her mind was spinning and the nausea kept churning her stomach. 

Like the doctor had promised, ten minutes later, two nurses entered her hospital room with a few pills and a cup of water. The first nurse looked in her mid twenties. She had striking red hair with multiple freckles coating her skin. Her deep blue eyes were filled with passion and concern. The second nurse was older with slight graying hair. She looked to be about sixty. Her black hair was twisted up in a bun, and her Asian skin shimmered in the light.

"Gloria?" the elder nurse asked with a smile. "I'm Janette and this is my trainee Amanda. We'll be your nurses." Janette's Oriental eyes thinned as her smile grew.

"We brought some pain reliever and some pills to help your stomach settle down a wee bit," Amanda said with a charming Irish accent. Gloria had to wince. It reminded her of Monica so much.

"Thank you," the angel managed. She carefully swallowed the pills down. When she had finished her water, Janette left the room, but Amanda lingered behind.

"Are you up to breakfast?" she asked her patient. Gloria shook her head. 

"I think I'll wait until my stomach feels like it will agree to food." The angel lay back down after Amanda left. "Oh, Father," she prayed quietly, stopping to wince from the pain of her shoulder. "What good am I in here?"

******

Monica sat with her dark eyes gazing absentmindedly at the crackling fire, each spark and flame reflecting in the shadow of her sight. Her mind was clouded with an emotion she had never experienced. Actually, her emotions were cold at the moment. And Andrew's being late did not add pleasure to any of it.

She looked up to the clouded sky. The quarter moon revealed itself and peeked out of the atmosphere. The moon was bright and forced her to look away. The night was getting colder each minute; heat was stifled into the darkness, none knowing of its presence at all.

"Andrew," she mumbled, hardly admitting to herself that she longed for his presence. "Where are you?"

At least a half an hour later, fatigue grew in her weary human form and her brown eyes muffled shut. Fortunately, she managed to make it inside the tent after putting out the flames. The smell of smoke obstinately refused to disappear. Her clothing was soaked through with it.

Crawling into her sleeping bag, she experienced her first night in a tent—and alone. It was cold and silent, on occasion of an owl hooting. But the sound of crickets and frogs in the wavering background echoed through her head, only for her to realize that most of it was all in her mind. Was she asleep and dreaming? She decided that. After all, the pain was gone.

But all that failed to endure when she felt a movement beside her. Without warning, she turned over to find a motionless Andrew lying, seeming to be in a deep sleep. She knew he wasn't, but rather just playing the part to appear to have been there for a while.

"I know you're awake," she mumbled in a tired lilt. He flashed open his emerald green eyes and sighed. He stared blankly at the ceiling of the tent. Before he could say a word, she continued, "Why didn't you come back for the fire? You said…"

"I know what I said," he interrupted. "But my assignment was complicated and something added onto it." He paused. "I'm sorry, Monica. I really regret not being here when I said I would, but…" his words trailed off. "I guess this vacation isn't turning out as great as I thought it would. We've hardly gotten to spend any time together."

"I waited for quite a while," Monica uttered in almost a whisper. "You were beginning to worry me…"

"I'm sorry," the angel of death repeated, sitting up half way and looking directly at her. When he saw the look of hurt in her brown eyes, he realized that behind all that coldness, her heart did care. 

"I'm not tired any more," Monica mused. She sat up and crossed her arms that were covered in goose bumps.

"Are you cold?" Andrew asked in a concerned voice. She defiantly shook her head. But he could see the dishonest look that played her face. Slowly, he reached over and touched her arm. "You're ice cold," he said quietly. She quickly pulled her arm away and turned her gaze to her sleeping bag. "Here." He took off his flannel over shirt and covered her shoulders. 

She managed a stiff thank you and said, "But I'm really not that…"

"Don't give me that," he ordered sternly. "You don't have to be embarrassed. Why would you be anyway?" the angel of death asked suddenly.

"I'm not embarrassed," she almost laughed. "I'm just not…oh forget it!" she said in a fluster. She ran her fingers through her brilliant auburn hair.

"What do you say we go out and have that fire I promised you. I'm not tired anymore either," he suggested with an obvious look approaching his handsome face. She hesitated, pondering his words in her mind. For some reason, part of her wanted to ignore him. But as her thoughts flowed in her mind, she knew why. She pictured the small white object in her head and gulped as a feeling of nausea filled her body.

"Okay," she said shakily. Noticing her tone, he looked at her with concerned emerald eyes.

"Are you feeling alright?" he asked his friend. She nodded and slowly crawled out of her sleeping bag. A fire might be nice, she decided. At least for a while. But what would she do when the pain returned?

A squeeze at her hand forced her to travel back into the real world. Andrew was smiling at her, his emerald eyes sparkling in the moonlight. As he stared at her, a feeling of guilt came over him. 

"Do you want anything—hungry at all?" she asked him, trying to sound willing. He shrugged. "I could cook up something if you'd like," Monica said.

"You—cook—I don't know about that, honey. I think we're better off waiting until morning for a nice breakfast in town before we begin our work," he answered quickly. 

She watched him give the ashes and sparks a blow as a fire came to life. Its orange flames hypnotized her, creating her mind to fall into another spell that brought her back into her own world. The flames slowly died down and the night became still. 

"I'm starting to fall asleep," she mumbled, not realizing her words had escaped her mouth. A yawn overcame her actions, followed by a stretch. 

"Here," he said, outstretching his arms. A slight smile grew on his lips, and he raised his eyebrows in a question. As much as she wanted to back away from him, the offer was too much to resist—just like so many other things that day. Her mind drifted back to the visit with Monique, and then the white object that lay in her suitcase. Maybe this wasn't the right way to stop the pain. Then her mind flashed back to life and she saw Andrew's outstretched arms. Willingly, she backed into them and rested her head on his chest. "I love you," he whispered softly into her ears, the heat of his breath striking her skin. But she was too dazed to answer. And the next thing she knew, warm light was streaming into the tent.

It was morning.


End file.
